


By Any other name

by ThisIsMyTruthTellMeYours



Series: Amok Time [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 01:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22423873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsMyTruthTellMeYours/pseuds/ThisIsMyTruthTellMeYours
Summary: Minerva McGonagall never married, but no one can say the witch did not know love in her life. A story of her friendship with Professor Dumbledore, her love story with Cygnus black, and later, with Dougal, her relationship with her family... Currently on hiatus
Relationships: Minerva McGonagall/Cygnus Black
Series: Amok Time [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613683





	By Any other name

_**Disclaimer:** _ _The ideas are mine, the characters belong to JK._

* * *

_"Sorrow found me when I was young"_

_**Sorrow, by The Nationals** _

* * *

**By Any Other Name**

"Malcom, come back, dear!"

A young boy, of perhaps 5 or 6 years of age, ran back to his sister's side as soon as he heard her calling. There was a bright smile on his face. Malcom had not seen his elder sister for almost a year now, and, at his early age, he missed her dearly. According to their parents, he had been asking for Minerva incessantly for several weeks before her return for the christmas break.

In spite of the age gap that kept them apart, Minerva and Malcom were very tight. The girl remembered the surprise she experienced when she came back home after her second year of school and stumbled upon a box of baby toys. A baby was crying inside what used to be a guest room, or at least it sounded like a baby crying. "Aren't you curious to see your brother?", her father asked, only to have an astonished 13 year old Minerva staring at him with disbelief, and stuttering back something that sounded a lot like: "Bro-brother?"

Reverend McGonagall had been appalled to learn that his eldest daughter had no idea whatsoever she had a new born brother. In fact, she had had a brother for over four months now. He believed, or rather, he assumed, foolishly enough, one might add, that Isobel and Minerva had been corresponding ever since the beginning of his wife's pregnancy. Isobel spent so many hours by herself, what else could she be doing? It was not unreasonable to assume she would want to share the news with her only daughter, was it? It was, after all, a woman's issue, not for him to discuss with a young girl. Besides, he would certainly not engage in the habit of using those pestilent owls to send letters as if the post office bureaus had not been invented over a century ago. Quite frankly, he was a bit disgusted of those wild animals. And there was no other way to correspond with Minerva once she was off to school. The mail man would never be able to find that place, - what was the name, anyway? - even if Richard were to give himself the trouble of dropping his child a few lines.

"Your mother has not told you anything," he concluded at the time, and although Minerva mumbled a timid "No, sir," in return, it wasn't really a question. She did not understand the disappointment in her father's eyes. In fact, she was surprised that he would even think her mother might have told her anything at all. Isobel had never sent Minerva a single owl. Not even in her first day of school, a couple of years before. It saddened the girl to witness the flock of owls storming into the Great Hall during breakfast, on that first morning, dropping packages filled with forgotten items and letters from parents who already missed their kids, specially the first-years, most of which had never travelled on their own before. Lonely though it may have been, the incident taught Minerva her mother was not fond of writing. And she was too young to understand that a new baby in the house was reason enough for even the most reluctant writer to pick up a quill.

The Isobel Minerva knew was never a happy woman. She never asked questions about Minerva's life at school, in fact, after Minerva's eleventh birthday, and subsequent entrance in the magical community, her mother didn't talk much to her at all. Reverend McGonagall didn't like to talk about his child's magical abilities either, so Minerva was mostly left by herself. Her parents' attitude towards Malcom was roughly the same, ever since his earliest years, so the two kids spend as much time as they could in the company of each other.

In the years that followed, whenever she came back home for the summer break, baby Malcom would jump into her arms, and she would be amazed at how much he'd grown in the time she spent away. He would show her his drawings and his new toys, and every night, he refused to fall asleep before she could tell him a good night story.

Minerva was glad to accommodate him. On her last visit to the diagonal alley, she had purchased an illustrate copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard specifically for those ends. She would sit on the bed, by his side, reading the stories out loud whilst her little brother stared hipnotized at the pictures, that moved according to the rhythm of her voice. Minerva was excited herself, for no one had read her those stories when she was little. And she looked forward to a new tale every night, almost as much as little Malcom did.

The summer after her sixth year, though brought a surprise. She had been home for about a week now, when her father walked into her room and made an unusual request. A wealthy Italian gentleman had arrived in Caithness, a few days earlier. He was a newly-wed man, considering purchasing a property in those areas to move to Scotland with his wife. In order to get to know the local society, he would throw a masquerade ball in his mansion, and it was Richard's desire that Minerva would attend. The young witch was not too excited about a muggle ball, but she was, after all, the daughter of the local Presbyterian minister, and she could not do her father the disservice of refusing to go. Specially when her mother was decided not to show up. By the time she came back from the masquerade, little Malcom was sound asleep on his bed. No stories for them that night.

Minerva did not regret going. It had been amazing. But she did regret what happened afterward. And perhaps it was fortunate that Malcom was asleep upon her return. Minerva was in no condition to read him anything, anyway. She cried so hard, and for so long, it took hours for her to finally fall asleep. And even before the sun was up, the next morning, her little brother sneaked into her room, pulling the sleeves of her nightgown, trying to get her to wake up.

"Minerva, wake up, wake up." He asked, in his thin boyish voice. "You didn't read me a story last night!"

"Malcom?" She asked in a low, sleepy voice, her eyes still closed.

"Yes, me! It's time to wake up!"

Minerva opened her eyes, staring at her little brother's face. It was hardly time to wake up, but he looked so happy she didn't have the heart to discourage him, and instead of sending him away she simply asked "Would you like to take a stroll with me?"

He simply shook his head smiling.

"Fine, go get changed, I'll meet you in the garden in a minute."

He left the room, running. Minerva closed her eyes again. And opened them once more, staring at the ceiling. It took her a while to remember why she felt so sad and tired. Then the memories of the previous night descended upon her with the violence of a thousand suns. She did need a walk.

That was how they had ended up in the park, Malcom running after butterflies and Minerva walking behind him, self-preoccupied with her own musings. When the little boy came, answering to her calling, the girl knelled down and brushed the burrs off of his pants, so they wouldn't prick his legs. She also helped him dress a pinstriped blue sweater in spite of the boy's protests that it wasn't that cold at all. By the time his head emerged from the collar of the sweater, Malcom was looking at a fixed point above Minerva's shoulder, almost as if there was somebody there. She didn't realize there actually was until her younger brother asked:

"Who are you, sir?"

She was startled. She had been so absorbed by her own thoughts that she didn't even notice there was somebody else in the park. It was only when she realized the new comer was actually somebody she knew that her heart rate started to normalize.

"I am Cygnus." The sixteen year old boy answered Malcom's question, kneeling down and offering his own hand for a shake. "And you must be Malcom, is that right?"

"Yes." The little boy answered simply, putting his right hand into Cygnus' and lifting the other hand to his mouth, to suck his left thumb timidly.

"I am a friend of your sister from school. She has told me so much about you." Cygnus continued. He smiled at Minerva, who had stood up and observed them quietly. "Do you mind if I joined the two of you for your walk?" He inquired.

Little Malcom said nothing for a while. He studied Cygnus face for a while, his left thumb still in his mouth, then he got distracted by another butterfly, and started to chase it, leaving the two teenagers behind.

"Hello." Cygnus straightened up his body smiling at Minerva. "I told you I would come."

Minerva was out of words. Indeed, Cygnus had asked to call upon her in her house during the summer, but she had not really believed he would visit. Still, after everything that had happened, he was the one person in the whole world who she wanted to talk to right now. And before she could restrain herself, Minerva threw her arms around Cygnus neck, hugging him as perhaps she had never hugged him before.

"Minerva?" Cygnus asked, holding her tight, unable to understand what had happened, aware that everything was not okay.

"Cygnus..." She whispered. And then she broke into copious sobbing on his shoulder.

"What is the matter?" Cygnus inquired after a while. She took his hand to her chin lifting it up so she would face him, and dried the tears from her eyes when she had calmed down a little. "Talk to me"

Then she told him.

The previous night, after the clock stroke midnight, she couldn't find her father in the ball room. She looked for him everywhere, till somebody told her he had been seen upstairs, with his good friend John, the town's medical doctor. After that it was not hard to find them. They were talking in some sort of dinning room. The door had been left slightly opened, but the carpet on the hallway muffled the sound of her heels. Minerva was about to knock when she overheard her name.

" _It started out with Minerva, that's when everything started." Robert said in a low voice._

" _What started, Robert? What are you saying?"_

" _The ruin of my marriage."_

" _What are you saying, Robert? Your child is healthy, she is a bless from God."_

" _Oh I thought she was." Robert continued, and Minerva, outside in the hall had her back against the wall and coasted it till landing in the carpet softly. "I was so happy! I have been in love with Isobel ever since I could remember, John! You remember this, you were there! I couldn't stop thinking about her. Even during school days, when we thought she was away for that girl's boarding school of hers, Paty wouldn't stop trying to get my attention, and I couldn't care less, I only wanted Isobel."_

" _I remembered." John laughed. "I remembered the summer dance one year, I remember you practiced the way you was going to ask her to dance with you for a whole week, and when we finally got to the party you were such a nervous rack the most you could do was spilling soft drinks on your own tux. You turned into such a completely ridiculous person whenever she was around!"_

" _And when I finally worked up the courage to propose and she said yes I thought I was going to be the happiest man alive. I had just been ordered a minister, like my old man. I finally had enough money to rent a house. The girl of my dreams was wearing my ring. It was perfect. I didn't even care that my parents didn't like her. I didn't listen. I loved her!"_

" _Don't you love her anymore?" john sounded worried._

" _I'm not saying that!" Robert lifted his head for a moment, and looked away again. "Mother tried to open my eyes, but I was so blind. 'This girl is not for you', she told me, 'she's strange. Her family is strange. We don't know the first thing about her.' Do you think I listened to my mother, John? Of course not! Of course not! I knew Isobel. I knew she loved me and that was all I needed, right? Why are the young so blind?_

" _Besides, her family didn't like me either. I should have known. I remember I went to her place once after we got engaged, and Mr. Ross pretty much released the dogs on me. 'He's not a pure blood.' They said. They thought they were nobility. Damn it, I might have thought they were relatives of the bloody queen, the way the old man talked. 'How could you bring such shame upon your own kind?' They asked her. And when she defended me, when she said she would give up everything to be with me I was glad. Glad! I didn't realize how much she was giving up. I didn't realize how much I was giving up."_

_John was very quiet. His friend was on the verge of despair, he needed to vent, and so John listened._

" _But how could I know? How could I know if she did not tell me?"_

_He seemed to wait for the answer for a while. But there were no answers._

" _You know, John, we moved here. This town needed a minister, it welcomed us. And I didn't even wondered why Isobel had no other local friends. Why the girls from her boarding school never sent her letters. I didn't think. I thought she was so happy with me she did not need anyone else. I did not need anyone else for quite some time._

" _And when she told me we were going to have a baby I was thrilled! She was not as excited as I was, and I didn't understand at first. But then I was told she was probably scared. It was her first child. I understood that. I was scared. But for different reasons. And from time to time, I could make her smile. And she would forget her worries. I think that she hoped the kid would turn out like me. Of course she did. How could she not? Who would want a child to be like that?"_

" _Like what?"_

" _My wife was my whole life. And when I picked my daughter on my arms, I thought I had never seen such a beautiful girl. We would name her Minerva, after Isobel's gandmother. I was okay with that John. And when Isobel got depressed, I didn't understand again. And once again I was told it was normal. It was a woman thing. It would get better. So I waited._

" _But it didn't get better. She was more and more reserved. She would refuse to talk to me for days in a roll. She picked up Minerva and disappeared. It hurt me. And at the same time the strangest things happened around the baby. Toys would fall of the higher shelves on her bed for no good reason. I could swear I heard my bagpipes playing by themselves. I thought I was going crazy. God, I almost wish I had._

" _Then Isobel told me. She decided she could not keep that secret anymore. She told me what she was. And I couldn't believe she hadn't tell me that before. How could she marry me and not tell me that. It explained everything. It explained her mood swings. And her depression. And the baby, and all the strange things that were happening. It explained her depression. The reason she was avoiding me. The reason she was hiding from me._

" _And then she told me that I couldn't tell anybody. As if I could tell anybody, John, as if somebody would understand!"_

_John remained silent. He himself understood very little of what his friend was telling him. Minerva on the hallway, on the other hand understood everything. Her father's words were painful blows to her heart. And just like Robert couldn't stop himself from talking, Minerva couldn't stop her tears from rolling down her eyes._

" _I was the classical fool John..."_

" _Robert, I don't undertand, what has happened?"_

" _Nothing." Robert answered frenetically. Nothing has happened, not any one thing, you see... It's the way she is... It's what she does.."_

" _Robert..."_

" _But Isobel said things would be fine!" Robert interrupted his friend again. "And I believed her. For a while at first, I believed her. Love is a strange thing John, it's a disease, I tell you that, and you can count your blessings you have never been afflicted by this illness. Because I have loved this woman ever since I could remember, ever since I understood what it meant to love someone, ever since I laid eyes on her! And I was hers ever since our first kiss. Ever since my lips touched hers I knew I would never seek any other lips but hers again. I was hers to do as she pleased, John. And even after she told be what she was, as shocked as I was, as appalled, as frighted as I was of the things she could do, I did not stop loving her. And when she said everything would be okay, I believed her! I wanted to believe her so badly. I wanted things to be okay. I wanted us to be happy, that's all I've ever wanted._

" _She said it was the secret that made her ill, that she couldn't bear to keep secrets from her husband and now that I knew, things could go back to the way they were before. And I believed her. I didn't know what she was before, I didn't know a thing, and we were happy. Now I knew, I knew what she could do, I also knew she had chosen not to do, she had chosen to be a normal person and live by my side. And so life would go on. I was such a fool._

" _We had Minerva now. In our lives, everyday. Unable to control herself, doing all those thingn, reminding Isobel of what she had left behind. She think she gave up too much. She regrets it. I know it. She thinks I'm not worthy it. I can see it in her eyes. I used to make her happy with a box of chocolates. Now she's never going to be happy again._

" _It's more than that. More than the baby. More than her sadness. It was about me too. She lied to me. Lied by omission. That's not something I can just forget. My trust was broken. I had given it to her. And it was broken. I couldn't look her in the eye for weeks, months even. I would never hurt her. Never. But I couldn't touch her for years. Do you know what that feels like, John? To not be able to touch your own wife?_

" _When Minerva went away for her - boarding school, things got a little better. I was still hurt. Eleven years, and I was still hurt. But we were talking to each other again. She seemed happyish. And then, she dropped on me that we would have another child. And everything started all over again._

" _She was so- fragile. And sad. And she looked at me with those eyes. 'I promisse you this time it'll be a boy.' She said, as if that had anything to do with it at all. 'If it is a boy, will you come back to me?' She asked. Come back. She wanted me to trust her again. I guess I didn't even realize how distant we were from each other at that point. And my heart broke into a million pieces because I hate to see her suffering, I hate to see her said. But when she talked to me like that, when she asked me those questions I couldn't help but feeling angry. I was infuriated. Out of myself. And then Malcom came, and of course he is the same as Minerva, and the same as Isobel._

" _My mother was so right, John. She looked me in the eye one morning. The very morning before I eloped with Isobel. 'This girl has bewitched you, my son. Don't let her charm you into marying her. You don't want to be attached to this witch." Ha! That's what mother called Isobel, do you believe it? A witch. She had no idea how right she was. She said, she warned me I would not tolerate living with a witch. And now I have three of them in my house."_

" _Robert, stop saying things like that. You have a beautiful wife. Two healthy kids. I know you love Isobel."_

" _Of course I love her. And I will never leave her. She is my wife in the eyes of God, for better or for worse, I made those vows. In spite of the things she has done in her past, in spite of all those- ungodly things, we are married. And I fulfill my husbands' obligations. But earlier today, just before I left the house, she said we are going to have a third child. She just can't. I don't know how much more of this I can take John. I love her with all my heart, but I'm starting to see that this is not enough."_

" _So that's it. A new child. You are scared, Robert. Of course you're scared. You have reached this point in your life, and you start to think about-"_

_But Minerva couldn't listen to any of it anymore. She just ran away, the mask over her nose concealing her tears._

"Does he know you overheard him?" Cygnus asked, worried.

"No. He will never know." Minerva said simply. "I understand you now, Cygnus."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, your family. Their obsession with the purity of blood." She explained. "We can never be one with the muggles. We are different irreconcilably different. They don't hate us because they don't know about us. And the ones that do know hate us, because they can not understand us. They fear what we can do. My father has never seen the color of my mother's wand and he's scared to death of it. He's scared of me, and he's scared of Malcom, and Malcom is just a little boy!"

"He should be scared." Cygnus pointed out seriously.

"And my mother too. I understand now. She was crying when I got my letter to Hogwarts, because she was envious. She knew I was going to a place where I would truly be a witch and she gave up on that. And whenever I come home for the summer she is reminded of all the things she left behind, and she hates it. I'm not saying she hates me, just- my presence in the house. That's why she never write me letters, why she never ask me questions..."

Cygnus Black remained very quiet. His family was one of the eldest pure blood families in Britain and they took great pride in that accomplishment. His uncle Arcturus had an old tapestry which depicted the Black family tree ever since the dawn of the middle age. Wizards and witches should not mix with inferior non-magical beings. It was insulting enough that magic should remain a secret. The old pure-blooded families descended from wizards and witches who had lived through the medieval age. Who had been hunted by ordinary people, by muggle priests, much like Minerva's father. Those wizards taught their descendants to distance themselves from muggles and preserve the purity of their blood, effectively keeping alive the memory of the inquisition years. Cygnus had grown up with those beliefs. He had never disputed his father's claims that pure-bloods should strive to maintain that purity, and he had never had any doubts. Until he met the girl standing in front of him.

Minerva was, in the vernacular of the youngest Blacks, a mudblood. Not that Cygnus would ever call her that. She was a descendant of the powerful Ross clan, a pure-blooded family almost as old as the Black's themselves. But her mother had chosen to marry a muggle. She had not even chosen a wizard with muggle parents, she had chosen a muggle. Somebody without any trace of magical skill whatsoever. Isobel Ross had in fact committed the worst offense a pure blooded witch could ever inflict upon her predecessors. Had she been a Black, her face would have been burnt from uncle Arcturus' tapestry, which meant banishment from the family, for her and her offspring. According to their morals, Minerva was forbidden fruit for the young Cygnus Black.

It was not just a matter of pride and prejudice. Cygnus was a reasonable young man. As much as he'd been brought up listening to his family's dogmas, he could and he wanted to think for himself. And the fact was that most pure-blooded wizards he met were brilliant. Not just intelligent, but resourceful, charming, wealthy and ambitious. Nearly all of them were looked up to and admired, in and out of school, and he wanted that. Other people were simply obfuscated by their shine.

But not Minerva. Minerva was probably the most intelligent girl he had ever met. She had obtained an Outstanding in every single one of her O.W.L.s and she was enlisted in more N.E.W.T.s classes than anybody in their year. She was the only student ever to be chosen by professor Dumbledore to take private lessons on advanced transfiguration, and that was Albus Dumbledore, the wizard responsible for the defeat of Grindewald, the Dark Wizard, a few years earlier. The Blacks were not keen on Dumbledore, but none of them dare say he was not a great warlock. Minerva was also the seeker in the Gryffindor quidditch team ever since her third year, and a very good seeker she was. Arthur Snowyowl, captain of the Slytherins was often trying to come up with strategies for the beaters to knock her off her broom.

On top of all that, she was exquisitely beautiful.

The fact that such an accomplished lady like that could be the daughter of a muggle Scotchman was impossible to understand. And it made Cygnus question his beliefs in the purity of blood. To marry a muggle was unthinkable, of course. Minerva was the product of such a marriage, and she was walking by his side, telling him that was a mistake. But she was a witch. Did it really matter who her parents were?

"… so, even if it means you should not be talking to me, I understand your need for blood purity, Cygnus." She said. It appeared as though she had been talking for quite some time now, but the boy had been lost in his musings, and barely noticed it.

"When have I ever used your blood line against you?" He asked, in a tone of voice that would lead a naive observer to believe he was hurt by her comment.

"You have never said anything."Minerva agreed. "But actions speak louder than words."

"What have I done?"

"You know you never come to speak to me in public, unless there's a good excuse. Specially not if your sister, or your cousins are around."

"But I intend to spend the whole Christmas with you, to make up for the time we don't have at school." Cygnus smiled boyishly, changing the subject.

"And do Mr and Mrs Black know you are fraternizing with a mudblood?" She used the word on purpose. He blushed.

"They think I'm staying at Hogwarts." Cygnus admitted, blushing again, and Minerva smiled sadly. "Hey." He said, touching the back of her hand with his finger, as if trying to cheer her up.

"Well," she gave in, "whatever the reason, I'm glad you are here."

Cygnus opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of steps of Malcom running towards the young adults interrupted him. Minerva turned her back on her brother quickly, so she could dry up her face. She would hate for Malcom to see her crying. But the result of that was that when the boy stretched his arms for her to lift him oh her arms she missed it, and Cygnus stepped up to pick up the boy himself. Malcom didn't cry or complain at all. He seemed as comfortable in Cygnus' arms as he would have been on her own. Instead, he simply stated: "Minerva, I'm hungry."

"Yeah?" She asked simply, turning to face him, admiring how cute the two boys looked together.

"You know what?"Cygnus spoke, "I'm hungry too. And I'm willing to bet Miss Minerva here left the house so early she didn't have anything to eat."

"No she didn't eat anything." Malcom said, taking his left thumb to the mouth once more.

"Malcom!" Minerva half-reprimanded him, in surprise. Cygnus laughed.

"Well, the two of you are in luck. Because I brought everything I need for us to have a picnic."

"Picnic!" Little Malcom lifted up his arms, celebrating.

"I don't know, Malcom, I should probably get you home." Minerva hesitated. Cygnus didn't try to dissuade her. Instead he whispered something in the little boy's ears. Malcom for his part looked his sister with puppy dog eyes as he said:

"Pretty, pretty, please?"

"Oh the two of you are working together. Not fair!" Minerva protested.

"I shall take that as a yes." Cignus declared, a victorious smile on his lips.

"Close your eyes and open your mouth." Cygnus requested of Minerva, and once she opened her mouth to protest he placed a small chocolate in her mouth.

"I want one too!" Malcom protested. The youngsters laughed.

Minerva sat over the picnic towel, hugging her knees, watching the two boys together. Cygnus was a natural with Malcom, although he didn't have young siblings or cousins that age, and somehow, she loved that particular trait in him. He was very elegantly dressed today, in social pants and shoes, black, of course, and a white shirt with tall collar and the first couple of buttons opened. It matched nicely the white dress she had chosen for their morning stroll.

"So, Malcom, are you eager to go to Hogwarts?" Cygnus asked, chewing a chocolate himself.

"Yes! I want to go in the train!"The little boy said excited, and started to mimic train sounds.

"Well that's a great train, Malcom!" Cygnus pointed out. "Did you know, I met your sister in that train?"

"She never told me! Why did you never told me?" He protested strongly.

"You remember." Minerva looked at Cygnus, surprised.

He didn't answer. Instead he looked her with eyes that said: "Of course I do."

_At first she was alone._

_Perhaps she had been lucky, but Minerva had had no trouble at all finding an empty cabin in the Hogwarts express. She simply climbed the stairs of one of the rear wagons and walked inside the first opened door that caught her eye. There, in the loneliness of her own company, once she had slided the compartment's door shut, Minerva allowed her body to fall heavily over the window seat. She closed her eyes. It was good to finally be alone._

_She had never been to London before. Driving his daughter to King's Cross and making sure she got into the train for school seemed ordinary enough a task, and that must have been why Richard volunteered to do it. Of course, at the time he had not realized the tickets read "Platform 9 3|4", nor did he guess his daughter would have to walk through several inches of solid rock in order to take her train. Had he know any of this, he would have stayed home, working, or rather pretending to work, on next morning's sermon. Nobody could say that wasn't a valid excuse._

_Unfortunately though, he was there, and he had to stand a few metres away from the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, an air of resignation in his eyes as he waited Minerva to gather the courage she needed to cross. It was somewhat funny to witness how out of place her father felt in the presence of something so obviously magic as a train station hidden inside a wall. She smiled and waved back a second before pushing her bag chart into the wall. It was easier if she closed her eyes, or so she'd been told. Richard had his eyes closed as well._

_The train itself was very impressive. It was a red, large, 4-6-0 steam engine, and Minerva would have stood still there staring at it had there not been a wizard dressed in uniform urging her to walk on, moving out of the way of students that might be arriving next._

_Her compartment was also very comfortable. And once she straightened herself on the sit and looked out the window, she could watch the other students._

_The platform was crawling with youngsters and their families. Some of them, the ones that had arrived via side-apparation or using portkeys or the floo network, as she discovered later, already had their uniforms on. But the uniforms were not all the same. Some kids had colorful ties and badges attached to their clothes. Green and silver, red and gold, blue and bronze, yellow and black, the patterns seemed to be limited. She wondered what those colors meant..._

_Other kids were dressed in everyday clothes, though some of them had chosen rather weird combinations. A boy standing about 20 metres away from her window kissed his father goodbye, contrived. He had an extravagantly pink scarf wrapped around his neck, and bunny-shaped slippers no one should use once they are older than 2 years of age. It made Minerva laugh, and she wasn't the only one. A couple of boys wearing regular pinstriped sweaters and brown pants laughed their brains out, pointing at the bunnies a few metres away. The pink-scarfed boy's father didn't seem to understand a thing. He himself was wearing a weirdly lila jacket. It would take some time for Minerva to understand that most wizards don't seem able to master the art of getting dressed like a muggle._

_Before long, her solitude was disturbed. The sliding door of her compartment was opened briskly, and somebody else walked in._

_It was a boy, perhaps as old as she was, and certainly not one centimeter taller. He already had his school attire on, except for his cloak and his hat, and he looked as elegant as a young prince, the black of his tie matching nicely the color of his hair. He slided the door back to its place as soon as he was inside, and rested his forehead tiredly in the wooden closed door, breathing heavily. His eyes were closed and the gasping sounds of his breathing were so loud he didn't realize he was not alone._

_Cygnus Black had been walking the corridors of the rear wagons, looking for his cousin, Orion, a first year in Hogwarts, just like himself. But he overheard the palaver of voices coming his way, and the whirl of steps of students running up and down the hallways, all of them much older than he was. Nervous and anticipating the unpleasantness of being run over by the scrum of Hufflepuffs getting closer and closer, he ran as fast as he could, and when he couldn't possibly do it anymore, he unceremoniously invited himself in the first door he could reach. Before long, the loud sound of running steps went by the door. He was safe._

_The train started moving. Minerva was so distracted watching the new comer that the sudden movement startled her and she gasped, grabbing the edge of her sit. The sound startled the boy who turned back to face her scared, and angry, and for a while, neither of them could say a word. Before any of the kids could recover from the shock, the door was slammed open again, this time by a tall dark haired boy, three or four years older than the two of them._

" _Cygnus, here you are!" The tall boy exclaimed, relieved, placing a hand over the younger one's shoulders. "Is everything okay?"_

_Cygnus nodded, looking away from Minerva for the first time. That drew the taller one's attention to the second occupant of the cabin._

" _And who are you?" He asked, pulling Cygnus a little closer. He was already in uniform as well, and his uniform was full of green._

" _Minerva McGonagall" Minerva answered timidly, once she realized she had been asked a question, which took nearly a minute, actually._

_There was a minor grimmer of his lips when he heard her last name, a nearly imperceptive signal of his awareness that that girl was most likely, a mud blood. He didn't bother to speak to her further after that. Instead, he closed his fingers firmly over Cygnus' shoulders, and pulled him further away. "Come, cousin. We have a cabin up front." He said at last, sliding the door shut one last time and leaving a perplex young Minerva behind._

"Harfang wanted to pull you away from me at all costs." Minerva remarked, once Cygnus finished telling the story. The tall boy she had met that day on the train was Harfang Longbotton, the II, as she learned later, Cygnus' first cousin, son of his aunt Dorea Black.

After that awkward encounter on the Hogwarts Express, Minerva and Cygnus had pretty much followed their own ways. The sorting hat placed him in Slytherin, of course, along with most of his family, and she ended up in Gryffindor, which naturally pulled them further and further apart. They had classes together, from time to time, of course, but they didn't actually speak to one another until the beginning of their 5th year.

As fate had it, the two of them had been nominated prefects of their respective houses, and as such, they were suppose to travel the first portion of the way in the prefects' cabin on the first wagon. Minerva arrived alone, and so did Cygnus a few minutes later. Instead of saving a seat for whoever was the girl prefect of Slytherin, he sat by Minerva's side and after a few minutes of silence, he managed to say: "Hi". As simple as that.

Throughout that year, they had spent inordinate amounts of time together. As prefects, they had certain freedoms, such as the permission to use the library until the wee hours of the morning, or to walk the corridors of the castle after curfew, whilst other students of their year were restricted to the limits of their respective common rooms. Free of the watchful eyes of his cousins and his sister, Cygnus tried to spend as much time with Minerva as he could. He was the one to come up with the idea of a late-night study group of two, and to his surprise, Minerva readily agreed to it.

Truth be told, she had always been uncomfortable with his family's ideas of blood purity, but the more she got to know Cygnus, the less she associated him with that kind of cheap hatred. Cygnus was extremely intelligent, and he constantly questioned his father's determinations, though he would never openly defy or disobey Pollux Black. He was a well-read young man, and when they talked, Minerva never felt her time was wasted.

If the situation was another, they would probably be involved in a romantic relationship, but that was an impossibility. As Cygnus explained her once, during their last Christmas trip to Hogsmeade, in his family – and most pure-blooded families as a matter of fact - it was customary for the parents to arrange their children' marriages when they were very young. It was a way to forge relationships with other respectable families, thus facilitating business, economic and political affairs. He had been bonded to Druella Rosier when he was a little older than eight years old. They were supposed to be married as soon as they finished Hogwarts. Their parents had signed the contract.

Druella was a student at the school of witchcraft herself, a Slytherin, naturally, a couple of years younger than the two of them. She and Cygnus barely spoke to each other at all, which baffled Minerva. Cygnus explained that their marriage had been a political decision. He didn't know the girl at all. If he was to approach Druella, he would not know what to talk to her about. Nor did he have any intention to try. From the things he observed in their common room, she was a most futile and uninteresting girl. The less he discovered about those things before their marriage the better.

" _Don't you have a way out?"_ Minerva inquired once. As it turned out there was. The Black were a powerful lot, and however strenuous a process, the contract could be rescinded upon. But his father would never agree to that unless there was a very good reason. Unless Cygnus fell in love with girl whose family was at least as old and important as the Rosier, people with whom an alliance was needed and appreciated. And that was probably not going to happen.

" _Why not?", Minerva asked._

" _I'm pessimistic." Cygnus answered simply, after a few minutes of silence. It was not exactly the truth, but it wasn't a lie either, and he left it at that._

"Our conversation appears to have bother your little brother" Cygnus pointed out, as Malcom slept with his left thumb in his mouth, resting his head over Cygnus' extended legs.

"He was already tired." Minerva pointed out. "He woke me up before the sun rise."

"He's cute." Said Cygnus. "Much like his big sister in this department."

Minerva smiled.

"Oh, I wish you had gotten here yesterday. You know... Before everything, before I overheard my father,... there was the ball."

"A ball?" Cygnus asked interested, running his fingers through Malcom's hair.

"A masquerade ball. It's an old muggle tradition. Everybody attends wearing masks, there's music, and dance. Nearly the whole town was there."

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"It was amazing!"

"Why?"

"I met a boy there."

"A boy?"

"Yes, a boy. We kissed. Just once, but it was- epic." She closed her eyes, romantically, remembering it.

"You don't know who it was-" Cygnus said, more to himself than to Minerva, almost as if he had just realized something.

"No..." She answered, barely unaware of the fact that there had been no question posed. "But it must be a local boy, I mean-"

"A local boy?" Cygnus asked, a shadow of laughter in the corner of his lips.

"Don't you laugh!" Minerva laughed back at him, hiding her face in her hands.

"Who's laughing?" Cygnus retorted amused.

They each had another chocolate bar, and the young Black heir watched his friend for a few seconds.

"Minerva-" He started, as if he was going to say something, but in the middle of the sentence he reconsidered and closed his mouth again.

"What?" She inquired curiously.

"Nothing. It was nothing, really."


End file.
